Cart and Cwidder by Diana Wynne Jones Read Free Book Online Page A

you give me your message for Clennen,” she said, coming forward with her hair still loose.
    â€œYou wouldn’t like it, lady,” said the man. “We’ll wait.”
    â€œMoril,” said Lenina. “Go round the lake and fetch your father.”
    Moril thought that was clever of her. It would deceive the men, and Dagner and Kialan might be some help. He tossed the currycomb into the cart and set off at a trot. But Clennen chose that moment to crawl out of the tent like a badger. He stood up, with his eyes red and blinking inside a tousled frill of hair and beard.
    â€œSomebody call me?” he said sleepily.
    Moril stopped, helpless. Everything went so quickly that he could hardly believe it was happening. The six men pushed forward in a body, overwhelming Lenina for a moment, and then leaving her in the open, clutching Brid. Their swords caught the pink early sun. The group round Clennen trampled a bit. Clennen, sleepy as he was, must have put up something of a fight. A man stumbled sideways into the lake. Another fell in with a splash. Then the six men, swords sheathed again, went running away from the lake in a group. One glanced into Clennen’s tent and then the smaller one. Another took a quick look into the cart as they passed.
    â€œNothing here,” he called.
    â€œLook in the woods then,” said the fair one. And they were gone.
    Clennen lay where he had fallen, half in the lake, with blood running out of him into the water.
    Before Moril could move, there was a thumping of racing feet. Dagner shot past him round the lake and surged onto his knees in the water beside Clennen. “Have they killed him?”
    â€œNot quite,” said Lenina. “Help me move him.”
    Moril stood where he was, some distance away, and watched them heave his father out of the calm sunny water. Brid’s face was grayish white, and her teeth were chattering. Dagner’s mouth kept twisting about. Moril could see his hands shaking. But Lenina was quite calm and no paler than usual. As they turned Clennen over, Moril saw a cut in his chest. Bright red blood was gushing from it as fast as the river ran in Dropwater, steaming a little in the cold air over the surface of the lake.
    At the sight, the bright trees, the lake, and the sunny sky dipped and swung in front of Moril. Everything turned sour and gray and distant. He could not move from the spot. Up in the woods behind him, he could dimly hear the six men crashing about and calling to one another, but they could have been on the moon for all the fear and interest Moril felt. His eyes stared, so widely that they hurt, at the group by the water.
    Lenina, without abating her calm, tore a big strip from her petticoat, and another, to stop the bleeding. “Give me yours,” she said to Brid, and while Brid, shaking and shivering, was getting out of her petticoat, Lenina said in the same calm way to Dagner, “Get the small flask from the cart.”
    Moril stared at his mother working and telling Brid what to do. The only sign of emotion Lenina showed was when her hair trailed in the way of the bandages. “Bother the stuff!” she said. “Brid, tie it back for me.”
    Brid was still trying to get a ribbon round Lenina’s hair when Dagner scudded back with the flask. “Do you think you can save him?” he asked, as if he were pleading with Lenina.
    She looked up at him calmly. “No, Dagner. The most I can do is keep him with you for a while. He’ll want to have his say. He always did.” She took the flask from Dagner and uncorked it.
    Moril desolately watched her trying to get some of the liquid from the flask into Clennen’s mouth. It was not fair. He felt it was not fair on his father at all, to die like this, first thing in the morning, miles from anywhere. He ought to have had warning. Dying was a thing someone like Clennen ought to do properly, in front of a crowd, with music playing if